


Tell the World I'm Coming Home

by Engie_Queer



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: A lot of gay affection, Anxiety Attacks, Character Death, Coping Mechanisms, Coping with Death, Family Feuding, Funeral Process and Procession, I apologize for the hiatus on this work, Interfamilial conflict, Military Violence Mentions, Obsessive thoughts, Other, Pregnancy, Public Displays of Affection, Repetition, Sickness, college and fluxes in fandom, i hope to update soon though, military mentions, slow development
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 14:52:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6012466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engie_Queer/pseuds/Engie_Queer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Poor son of a bitch, the one time he gets to go home 'n he's gotta go back to that. God damn if he ain't courageous, that Mitch. He's sure a helluva lot more that me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of the characters that are going to be throughout the BLU Team are a couple of my kin types. Criticism and feedback is greatly appreciated; please let me know how to make my works even better! If anybody needs anything tagged throughout this work, let me know! Thank you very much.

_Thursday August 7th, 1969_

 

_12:20 PM_

“Hey Ma!”

“Oh hey Pattie, how’s it goin’?”

“S’goin’ good, goin’ good. Just wanted ta let you know that I’m gonna leave work now n’ head home.”

“Oh you’re out early taday huh? Anderson stay late or what?”

“Nah, nothin’ like that. Jus’ wanted ta pick something up n’ surprise Sarah, y’know she hasn’t been feelin’ too great the last couple days.”

“Yeah, that’s what you’ve been tellin’ me, what with all the crap goin’ on with her motha right now. Gahd, I hope she feels better soon, she gets me worried!”

“Yeah, I know. Her Ma just doesn’t know when ta give up, that’s all.”

“Ya’d think she’d be proud a her daughta, but no she’s gotta bitch n’ bitch about what she n’ you don’t got. The nerve a that ol’ bitch, lemme tell ya. If I eva hear her talk ta her like that again, im gonna get involved, and ya DON’T want that Pattie.”

“I know Ma, I know. But the whole thing’ll blow over soon, doncha worry.”

“Yeah yeah, so ya say. Y’know its ha’d for me ta do that, Pat.‘Specially when I got eight grown boys and don't stop thinkin' ‘bout 'em every day.”

“Yeah, you’re right. You’re right.”

“Damn right I am.”

“Hahahahaha, s’always good ta hear from ya. Well, I’m gonna start headin’ out. Shouldn’t be more than a half hour, tops.”

“Aright Pat, ya be careful, ya hear me?”

“I will be, Ma.”

“Youre not takin’ 28 right? You’re takin’ Massachusetts?”

“Yes Ma, I’m not takin’ 28. Don’t worry.”

“You’ll ring once, right?”

“I’ll ring once.”

“Good. Good, good, good, aright. Go on then, I’ll stop pesterin’ ya. I love ya, Pat.”

“A’right, I love ya too, Ma.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

“Aright baby, talk to you soon. Bye.”

“Talk to you soon.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize ahead of time for any future location inaccuracies. If there are any that you all want corrected, please let me know so I can make the adjustment.

_2:00 PM_

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this the homeowner?”

“Who is this?”

“Hello, we are part of the-“

“I’m sorry, I’m not interested.”

Click.

Huh, thought that was gonna be Pat. He was supposed to call me. Probably’s stuck in traffic on Mass. Gets pretty hectic this time a day, with it bein’ summer and all the young people out n’ about. He’ll call me eventually, like he always does. Don’t worry, Barb. Don’t worry.

 

 

_ 2:42 PM _

Did he forget? He couldn’t have forgotten. He always remembers, he always remembers! Maybe he’s stuck in traffic. But for two hour? Almost three? Maybe he had his hands full comin’ in, maybe Sarah needed him for somethin'.

 

 

_ 3:40 PM _

“Hello?”

“Hey Ma, how’s it goin’?”

“Oh, Russ, how ya doin’ baby?”

“M’alright, just out n’ about. Saw the payphone n’ wanted ta call, see if I could come ova fer a little while.”

“Uh, sure that’d be fine. I’ve got leftovas in the fridge if ya want.”

“Oh neat, thanks Ma.”

“Yeah, sure thing. Listen…Have ya heard from Pat at all taday?”

“….Nah, not taday. He called yesterday ta check up, but he hadn’t called when I was home. Why ya ask?”

“He was supposed ta ring when he got in, but he hasn’t yet.”

“Aw c’mon Ma, ya know Pat. The guy’s probably doin’ shit, ya know he’s always got a project goin’ on.”

“He left at 12:30.”

“Damn, they let him out THAT early? Shit, man I need his job.”

“Russ, enough with the language, will ya?!”

“A’right, a’right, sorry sorry. Ya worry too much, he’s fine. Look, I’ll be ova soon if ya need, ya want me ta pick anythin’ up on my way?”

“Maybe just a cake from Barzinis? M’in the mood ta eat.”

“Sure thing, sure thing. I’ll see ya in a little bit Ma. No worries.”

“Alright, I'll see ya soon. Be safe.”

“Alright. Bye.”

“Bye, baby.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

4:10 PM 

               

Where is he where is he where is he where is he where is he where is he where is he where is he where is he where is he where is he he’s dead he’s dead he’s dead he’s dead he’s dead he’s dead stop it stop it stop it stop it please call me please please please where are you where are you where are you DING DONG DING DONG

“Ma! Good ta see ya!”

“Oh, Russ…come on in.”

Pap pap pap pap “I brought ya yer cake ya wanted. They threw in zeppoli for ya too, I told them who it was for.”

“That Barzini is such a sweet ol’ man. Thank ya fa gettin’ that fa me..”

“Anytime. Geez Ma, sure is warm in ‘ere. Sure you don’t need no AC or nothin’?”

“Nah, I’m fine with the fan. Got me through the years, it’ll do it fa me again.”

“The fan’s ‘bout as old as the house, Ma, ya oughta update.”

“I promise, the heat neva bothad me, and it ain’t gonna start.”

“You sure ‘bout that?”

“Russ, I’m fine, a’right? A’right.”

“…somethin’s wrong. And I know it ain’t the heat.”

“Russell-”

“C’mon, whassamatta?”

“…”

“…Ma?”

“…Ya haven’t heard from Pat at all taday have ya?”

“What? No- Ma, I told ya bafore, I hadn’t heard from the guy since yestaday. He still hasn’t called?”

“No Russell, ya think I’d be feelin’ like hell if he called me??”

“A’right, a’right no need ta panic, we’ll just call the house, see if Sarah heard from ‘im, that’s all.”

“And if no one picks up, what do I do? Rock back ‘n forth in my chair with my heart in my throat?”

“No one eva said that Ma, you ain’t gonna sit there n’ choke on ya own ha’at, aright? Look, we’ll call Sarah, we’ll see where he is so ya don’t have ta keep panickin’ on me, a’right?”

“Russell, ya don’t undastand. Somethin’ doesn’t feel right, Pat’s neva done this! He neva left me worryin’ like this! I can feel it, somethin’ the matta!”

“Well then yer only gonna feel worse if ya don’t see for yaself, right? Call ‘im.”

“…”

“Ma.”

“Gimme the phone.”

“Where is it?”

“Next ta the chair.”

 

4:30 PM

 

“This is takin’ fuckin’ faeva, damn phone company can’t do shit right no more.”

“Ma, they neva could, neva fuckin’ could.”

…

“Hello?”

“Sarah? Sarah honey, it’s Barb.”

“Oh, hi Mom! Wasn’t expectin’ ya ta call! How’re ya doin’?”

“I’ve been betta, ta be honest. Ya doin’ alright?”

“Yeah, I’m hangin’ in there. I mean, I keep getting bigger every day but that’s not gonna change.”

“True, very true. Listen, I got a question ta ask ya, if I may.”

“’Course, go right ahead.”

“…Have ya heard from Pat at all taday? I mean…did he come home from work yet?”

“Pat? Uh…not since this mornin’. He called me when he got ta work, and…yeah, that was it. And he doesn’t typically get home ‘till afta 5.”

“Oh…aright.”

“Ma, you don’t sound good. Whassa matta?”

“Sarah, he called me at 12.”

“He did? Huh, strange. What’d he call you about?”

“…Honey, are ya doin’ anythin’ right now?”

“..No. Why?”

“Why doncha come ova fa a bit, huh? Listen, sweetha’at, Pat called me at 12-12:30, sayin’ he was comin’ home early ta surprise ya n’ all. I was callin’ ya ta see if….if he’d made it home.”

“Oh…oh god. Ma, I- I don’t have a ca’ ta get ova ta ya right now. I...oh Jesus Christ.”

“Sarah, Russell’s gonna go getcha a’right? I’ll make some calls till ya get here, we’ll find him.”

“Jesus Christ Ma, jesus Mary Joseph…”

“Russell!!”

“Lookin’ fa my keys, ma!”

“They’re on the table! Sarah, he’s on his way, we’ll find him aright?”

We’ll find him.

We’ll find him.

We’ll fucking find him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's gonna start picking up after this part. Promise!

_ 4:50 PM _

“Hello, Myers and Coupling Financial, how may I help you?”

“Yes hello this is Barbara Halligan, I’m Patrick Halligan’s motha. He works fa ya’s and he hasn’t come home yet. Have ya heard anythin’ at all, somethin’ that might help me?”

“Hold on one moment, Mrs. Halligan.”

….

….

“Mrs. Halligan?”

“Yes?”

“Ma’am, our records show that Patrick Halligan clocked out at 12:15 this afternoon. Is there anything else we can do?”

“…No. Thanks.”

…

…

“Ma? Ma, I’m back with Sarah, where are ya?”

…

“Ma?”

….

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN I CAN’T REACH THE DEPARTMENT?”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry but the Phone Company’s having a bit of trouble with the lines in certain areas due to the heat and-“

“I DON’T GIVE A RAT’S ASS ABOUT THE GOD DAMN CABLE COMPANY. MY SON HASN’T COME THE FUCK HOME AND I NEED TA FIND OUT WHERE THE HELL HE IS.”

“Alright ma’am, alright we’re doing the best we can-“

“Don’ me givin’ me that shit, ya god damn mook. Get me through ta the police department or God help you.”

“Al- alright- alright ma’am. I- I just need you to stay on hold for just a couple more minutes.”

….

“Oh god, Russ, I’m scared. I’m so god damn scared!”

“Sarah, I promise ya, we’re gonna find him aright? Were gonna find ‘im.”

“An’ what if we don’t, Russ? What if he doesn’t come home?!”

“C’mon, don’t go talkin’ like that, huh?”

“Well how else am I supposed ta talk?!”

“Sarah, I-“

“Russell, please, just turn the television on.”

…

“And thank you for tuning in, we’ll be right back with Channel 5 news at 5 with Scott O’Connor, don’t go away!”

…

“Hello, Unit Three Police, what’s your emergency ma’am?”

“About fuckin-…Listen, my name is Barbara Halligan, motha of Patrick Halligan. My son works in upper Boston and hasn’t made it home- He called me hours ago and I’m worryin’ myself half ta death and-“

“Hold on, ma’am, you need to calm down. What is your missing son’s name?”

“Patrick- Patrick Halligan!”

“And how old is he?”

“33, tall, broad shouldered, light brown hair, bit of a stubble.”

“…Ma’am?”

“What??”

“…Hold on one moment.”

“I swear to fuckin-“

“Good evening everyone and welcome to Channel Five News at Five, I’m Scott O’Connor.  We have a breaking news story from the upper Boston area-“

“TURN IT UP RUSSELL!”

 

“-WHICH WAS THE SCENE FOR A DEVASTATING ACCIDENT ON HIGHWAY 28 EARLIER TODAY.”

……

…..

 

“Ma’am…There is no easy way to say this…”

….

….

 

“Say what?...”

….

….

 

“THE ACCIDENT WAS BETWEEN AN ITOXICATED MAN IN HIS 50’S, DRIVING THIS YEARS BUICK RIVIERA, AND ANOTHER MAN IN HIS EARLY 30’S DIVING A BLACK DODGE DART. BY THE TIME AUTHORITIES ARRIVED AT THE SCENE-“

….

….

 

“Mrs. Halligan….there was a man from an accident on 28 this afternoon. We…we couldn’t save him. He suffered such a large blow to the head-“

 

“-THE YOUNG MAN HAD ALREADY PASSED AWAY. THE INTOXICATED GENTLEMAN WAS SOON ARRESTED AT THE SCENE FROM HIS VEHICLE, SUFFERING ONLY SCRATCHES IN COMPARISON.”

…..

….

 

“…We have been trying to get through to your area for a while now but…due to the heat, the lines were damaged….Ma’am I am so sorry.”

…..

…..

 

“Ma’am??”

……

…..

 

 

Russell had to scrape both the wife and mother from the floor as both fell, one weak at the stomach and the other from the tears staining her white face. He held both of them on the floor as each bawled. Their makeup ran right down their faces. Such a raw emotion in that room, raw emotion mixed with the stench of emptiness. A hollow feeling lingered about the room that hung with the echoes of the family’s cries. Obvious questions ran through their minds. How could they let this happen? What were they going to do now? What were they going to tell everyone? How would his brothers react? How much would putting him to sleep cost them?

What was going to become of them?

Russell continued to hold them well into the end of the hour, the police department long disconnected by now. He would have to call them back, so they would be able to visit before everything else. He looked down at his sobbing mother, whose black hair has gone completely askew and makeup flooding into the hem of her dress and her sister, blond hair falling in her face and her fat fists pawing at the bottom of her skirt. It looked like it was about to rip from how she was holding it. He wouldn’t cry right now. Let the others let it out first. He could wait.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the best chapter. At all. Quite frankly I'm sorry for posting it like this but I did not want to keep the story waiting and I had hit a block on this chapter. Again, I'm terribly sorry.

_Teufort, Badlands Region, American Southwest_  

_1969_  

 

The afternoon downpour had ended, and the muddy sands now caked on the bottom of his cleats. Splish splash the puddles shattered as he ran and ran faster and faster through them, through the sands, through the layers of flesh chunks on the ground and through the smell of rocket fuel. He was a bullet from a gun, speeding past the remains of his fellow fallen comrades as well as the dirty no good bastards he was being paid to murder in cold blood. The halls smelt of blood and smoke and cooking meat.  He was defenseless, missing his precious bat having left it with the corpse of his last victim lying bleeding out on the intelligence floor. Stupid fat bastard. Stupid fat bald fatty fat. He was practically hogging up the whole room, what with his fat and all.  With him dead, he made an easy grab at the dough in front of his pretty blue eyes, only to have the alarms start and the ominous omnipotent voice scream “ALERT! THE ENEMY HAS TAKEN OUR INTELLEGENCE!”

Now, ever so quickly the boy had to Run run run as fast as he could towards his home, his precious home on the other side of the bridge that seemed nine miles long once he reached it. From where he stood atop the second floor of the company rival’s home the bridge stretched across the pathetic patch of muddied water for eons, and it never would seem that he could reach the end in one single piece. Anxiety welled up within the deep bowels of his gut as he looked around frantically past the array of bullets and screaming carcasses for some sort of opening whilst clutching the dough. He held it tighter than he’d hold a newborn baby; what he carried in his hands held an importance far surpassing that of a newborn child. Where oh where does the little boy run to? Where oh where can the little boy go?

It had been unfortunate that he was not able to properly concoct a logical plan directly on the spot, for the bruising force of RED’s offensive squadron was quickly moving towards his location. He could hear the loud bangs and pangs of the rocket launchers crashing into t wooden walls around them, the BOOM BOOM BOOM of the falling bombs and the RATATTATATATAT of the fat man’s gun. They were getting closer. God damn they could smell the sweat seeping from his brow. They could smell his blood that hasn’t even splattered on the pavement. He knew that if he didn’t run run run like hell he would see his precious vitals splattered across the meatheads’ faces. But his legs, oh his poor legs seemed glued to the spot. They wouldn’t move! Oh what a predicament he finds himself right now, tugging desperately at his legs to go go go, run run run c’mon c’mon C’MON! But they wouldn’t budge; with the intelligence strapped to his spine and the incoming infantry, his cleats were practically plastered to the dirt and sand that coated the ledge near the bridge.

What is a poor boy to do?

Where is the poor boy to go?

The options are slimming, his mind is racing as his arms desperately paw at his calves to try to free them from the invisible bond that had sealed his fate down a doomed path. With each failed tug his legs grew harder and harder, glued to the very spot he stood as the RATATTATATATATATAT and the BOOM BOOM BOOM only grew louder and louder and god DAMN WHAT THE HELL SORT OF CRACK WAS THAT IT SOUNDED LIKE THE SHOT OF


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the story should move along better now. My spring break had just ended however, so updates may remain slow once again, to which I apologize.   
> ALSO: BRIEF DEATH MENTION IN THIS CHAPTER.

A dream.

It was a god damn dream.

The bullets slicing through his paper skin, the crisp snap of his bones as he was launched upwards and came crashing down onto the ground, the blood-curdling shriek from his throat were all part of a fabrication created by his subconscious mind? Bullshit. There was no way that it could not be real. The horror he had just gone through could not have been an illusion. But, indeed it was not the chilling Respawn tile floor that greeted his aching, tired body. Instead, what greeted him was a warm cotton blanket wrapped so tightly around his thin ankles like hands. Sweat glistened off his tan skin against the oppressive sunlight leering in through the cracked window. Both his pillows and his hair was drenched in sweat, and the majority of his mop that was typically slicked back and tucked under his hat clung to his left cheek and temple. Wet limbs trembled with adrenaline still flowing through them from the fear of that vivid nightmare and instantly being pulled from it. He was alive, god damn it he was alive! His neck creaked as he moved his head to the side, his crusty eyes gazing up at the window and the particles of dust dancing around it. He was panting. He was panting like a stranded dog in the middle of the Death Valley. His chest rose and fell quickly with each greedy breath he took trying to pull himself down in vain from his adrenaline high from naught but a minute ago.

It was a dream.

It was a god damn dream.

Just as he was falling slowly, slowly from his high, the sound of knuckles rasping against the wooden door forced him to jump out of his skin. In the midst of the sweltering quiet he had grown calm, only to be interrupted by that knocking. His throat, sore and achy with sleep, could not produce his voice to answer the rasping knuckles, and in the back of his mind he had hoped that the owner of those knuckles would cease the disturbance and leave the door.

Of course, he was wrong.

“Scout? Y’alright in there, son?”

That Texan voice. He never, in a million years, forget the sound of that voice. He remembered it like he remembered the freckles sprinkled down the back of his hands. That Texan voice was smooth as old asphalt, but it had a ruggedness and roughness that he found very soothing. The man whose voice it was was a man of wise words and the occasional short temper, but also one of the biggest hearts this team had to offer. How eternally grateful the others had been for him, for a caring figure was hard to come by out in this barren wilderness.

His heavy head lifted up from the bed once that voice hit his ears, and it was at that moment that guilt began to set in. While he did not understand why, that familiar feeling of swallowing lead began to set into his stomach.

The doorknob jingled, and within seconds the door opened, revealing the stout engineer. His goggles rested across his face, covering his baby blue eyes. From the looks of his face, he had not touched a razor in quite some time; blond hair had begun to grow from around his mouth, up his jaw and even a bit on his cheeks. He wore tattered dark denim overalls, and underneath was a crisp blue button down shirt with a hint of a white undershirt underneath it. He lacked his typical yellow construction hat, replaced instead with a little tuft of dirty blond hair atop his head. The man before him was a true force of nature, one that could never be tampered with.

His booted feet silently stepped into the musty room, and the look on the man’s face was one of concern as he looked downward at the bed that the boy was still laying in. “Y’alright in here? Ain’t like you ta sleep in this late.”

The old man had a look about him, a look that the boy knew all too much about. It was always the same look he would get whenever he returned to the base after a mission that he knew he failed at. It was the same look Scout would see on his face after the older gentleman would hear him in his room, throwing whatever was accessible to him and bellowing out his frustrations into the musty desert air. He found a sort of comfort in that look, that look of concern for his well-being. A sort of loving gesture that he had missed too much.

“Me n’ the boys didn’t see ya at breakfast…Wasn’t sure whacha were up to, n’ we were gettin’ a bit worried when we didn’t..y’know, see ya zippin’ through the door, eh? S’everythin’ aright?”

By now, the dry mucous that clung to his throat and making it hard for him to speak had moistened up, allowing his vocal chords to finally be of use. When he finally spoke after the longest couple of minutes, his voice sounded groggy, very much like a smoker’s voice.

“What time’s it?”

In turn, the old man looked a bit confused by the question. The boy could tell that was not what he had expected him to say, but truth be told the clock that had been assigned to his room was long busted, and there was no counting on a new one any time soon. Instead of trying to think in his head the exact time for the boy, the older gentleman gave a small raspy chuckle and reached a thick hand out to pat him on the head. “S’afternoon, son. Past one.”

Past one.

Past one??

The boy’s head spun immediately as he rode right up out of bed and almost stumbled onto his feet. Blood rushed to his head because, well, you really ain’t supposed to just hop out of bed all willy nilly like that. But the boy was a bullet who couldn’t be stopped. He rushed across the room to grab the pants that were hung over a dilapidated wooden chair in the corner, not even bothering to grab his socks as he rushed out of his humid room and down the hall towards the main foyer of the base.

The stout man was left in the stuffy room alone after the runner dashed out, and he caught himself slight looking around. The boy didn’t come with much (it wasn’t like he had much to bring), but as he looked around he spotted a peculiar item on the table beside his bed that acted as his night stand. Atop it lie his standard black hat, a few coins, and a frame photo. The photo seemed to be professionally done; the quality and the lighting of the picture looked too perfect for it to be an impromptu shot. In the photo were a lot of people, mostly men from the looks of it, with a small, full-looking woman in the middle of all of them. She was shorter than them in comparison, and she was smiling wide. On either side of her were four men, each of different body types and sizes, but there were qualities among them that they all had in common. A couple of them had beards, not overly grown but a nice, stubble across their faces that gave them a big of an older, more dignified look. The engineer leaned in just a bit more to look a little closer at the photo, and as his eyes scanned the photo his lips tugged upward into a smile at the sight of a familiar face.

The smallest of the eight gentlemen with a huge grin on his face, slicked back hair, a tucked in dress shirt and shining blue eyes, was his very own Scout.

He stood in between two other men, one who was broader shouldered and bore a light stubble across his face, and another who was much skinnier than the other and had eyes that held what looked like a lot of anger, raw emotion. The boy cleaned up nice, really; he was a handsome young man, even when covered in blood and mud from a day’s work out on the field. He was hardworking, yet cocky. Ambitious, yet ignorant. And yet, a wave of happiness always washed over the older man whenever he found himself in the presence of the boy. He felt what could only be considered a fatherly protectiveness over him, and he wanted to teach him about a lot of things. War, love, everything a father ought to teach his son as he grows up before his eyes. And since he wouldn’t have that chance little Scout, he felt, would be like the son he couldn’t ever have.

He smiled even wider as he took in the photo one final second before rising to his own feet to leave the room. What could he say, he loved that troublemaker. Loved him to fuckin' death. 


End file.
